


Higher & Higher (Your Love Is Lifting Me)

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is tall. One is short. </p>
<p>Let the battle begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher & Higher (Your Love Is Lifting Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feveredpitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feveredpitch/gifts).



Ian is a fucking dick.

Mickey had actually known that from day one. He never let that sweet, innocent bullshit fool him. Gallagher was willing to stand up to him. Gallagher would fucking _smile_ when Mickey was telling him off. 

If he didn’t fucking love him so much, Mickey’s pretty sure he would hate Ian Gallagher.

Right now he hates Ian Gallagher.

Ian Gallagher who is stupidly tall and thinks he’s fucking funny. Who is fucking _amused_ by the fact that he can reach the top of the shelves. Ian thinks it’s _funny_ that Mickey can’t get the goddamned cookies that _hem_ fucking stole down because Ian thought it would be fun to put them up high. Ian thinks Mickey’s fucking _hilarious_ when he has to grab a fucking chair and pull it up to the counter to grab the goddamned package. 

He also thinks he should store Mickey’s fucking supply in the stupid fucking cabinet above the refrigerator that is the single-most useless piece of goddamned carpentry in the entire ass history of the earth., because _“no one would ever look there”_ because no one can fucking _reach_ it except for stupidly long-limbed alien-ass redheads who are very wrong about how clever they are. And are clearly pushing at how much patience a certain really pissed-off normally proportioned person might have at his juvenile sense of humor.

Of course, Ian doesn’t know how _not_ to push it too far, and Mickey’s beginning to realize that Ian loves it when Mickey loses his shit. 

Which means Mickey’s going to have to come up with a very evil, very devious way to get Ian back.

**

“Hey, Mick. You want ice cream?”

“Of course I want fucking ice cream. Do I look like I’m some sort of freak of nature?”

Ian peeks out of the kitchen. “Do you want an actual answer to that?”

Mickey flips Ian off. “Do you want to get laid again this decade?”

“You’re beautiful, baby.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an asswipe, dickhead.” 

Ian snickers and goes back into the kitchen. “Chocolate, mint chocolate chip, rocky road, or...what the fuck is this? Moose Tracks? I’m going to call chocoholics anonymous on you.”

“No one thinks you’re funny.”

“Oh, come on. You think I’m kinda funny.”

“Funny looking.” He can hear Ian’s snorty little laugh as he tries to muffle the sound. 

“Funny looking enough that you keep coming back for more.” Ian walks out into the living room with two bowls of ice cream, both piled high with all four different kinds. One of them has chocolate syrup on top and, even though Ian would give him shit that it’s for him, Mickey knows damn good and well that Ian’s the one who slopped the extra sauce on there for himself. Admittedly, Mickey reaps the benefits of that sometimes, but he knows Ian does it for himself, not for Mickey. Ian cocks his hip out, holding the ice cream bowls out to his sides. “You know you want a piece of this.”

“I want the ice cream.”

“You do?” Ian walks over and stands in front of Mickey. He leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. “How much?”

“Give me the ice cream, Ian.” He doesn’t even need to see Ian’s grin to know where this is going. Mickey is really fucking tired of where this is going. 

Ian holds both bowls over his head. “Come and get it.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and holds it for a long moment before exhaling. “Give me the ice cream, Ian.”

Ian moves his arms and hips like he’s a fucking cobra dancing for a snake charmer. He lowers himself slightly, bending at the knees then raises up again. “Gotta work for it if you want it.”

“Ian.” He can feel the tension ratcheting up in his back and shoulders. He’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him from killing Ian right now is the very real possibility that he’d meet his dad in prison and end up just as dead. 

That and the fact that he wouldn’t get laid anymore.

“Come on, Mick.” Ian lowers his voice, thick and sexy and too much like what Mickey likes to hear whispered in his ear when Ian slinks along Mickey’s body, ready for another round. “You want it bad enough, don’t you?”

Mickey takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. Ian’s smiling, having too much fun to notice how far he’s pushed, how much further he has to go before it’s too far. “Ian.”

“Don’t you want it?” Ian’s voice doesn’t change, but the hot glint in his eyes is pretty much the last straw.

Mickey kicks Ian hard in the shin and, when he bends forward, knees him in the groin. Ian goes down to his knees and looks up at Mickey with wide, shocked eyes. 

“What the fuck was that for?”

Mickey shrugs and picks up the bowl that actually landed right-side up from the floor. “Wanted it bad enough.”

**

It’s become a contest.

Ian keeps finding places out of Mickey’s reach to put things and Mickey keeps finding more and more ingenious ways of getting them and leaving them in plain sight for Ian to see. It’s also a little awkward, because Mickey really doesn’t want to explain to Fiona what he’s doing standing on top of the back of the toilet, and he _really_ doesn’t want her to know what exactly he’s trying to reach. 

He knows Lip finds out though, a couple hours later, when he walks out of the bedroom gagging and yelling death threats at Ian, telling him in no uncertain terms that straight men and actually _anyone_ should never have to look at that...whatever-it-is again. It’s quite possible that Mickey took a sharpie to it to make it a little...less appealing. Not that it wasn’t fucking terrifying in the first place.

And Mandy finds him standing dragging the dining room table across the floor so he can see the top of the makeshift bookcase and find the fucking remote Ian stashed up there because he didn’t want Mickey to change the channel while he was watching fucking home makeover shows. 

Mickey’s pretty sure he’s dating the gayest fuckhead in all of Chicago. Or the universe.

He finds the remote though and nearly falls on his face when the table teeters and leans. He catches himself on the wall and then jumps onto the couch. He manages to keep his feet, mostly, so he doesn’t faceplant into the coffee table or the floor. And flipping Mandy off doesn’t take any extra skill at all.

**

“Ian goddamned fucking Gallagher!” 

Mickey’s tempted to nail Ian in the junk again except he’s pretty sure doing that means he’s not going to get laid for even longer than the first time and Ian’s probably wearing a cup. 

“What?”

“Where’s my goddamned money.”

“What money?”

“You suck at sounding innocent. Where is it?”

“No, really, Mick.” He can barely keep his smile from breaking his face in two. “What money?”

“This game is getting really old, Ian. And I want you to know that one day, when you’re old and shriveled and hunched over-”

“You’ll still be shorter than me?”

Mickey keeps himself from doing any bodily damage. 

Barely.

“We gonna be together when we’re old and shriveled?”

“Your dick’s going to be shriveled by the time I let it near my ass again, now give me my goddamned money.”

Ian pouts and, if it weren’t so infuriating, it’d be cute. Not that Mickey likes cute. And not that he doesn’t want to just forget about the money and the deal and all the shit that he’s got to do and nail Ian to the ground and ride him until they’re both spent and sweaty and exhausted. But he’s a businessman.

Sort of.

“Ian.”

“Mickey.” He sing-songs Mickey’s name and Mickey’s hands curl into fists. He is going to kill him. He’s going to kill Ian and make it look like an accident and, if he’s lucky, he’ll find a way to blame it on Lip and his world will finally make sense again. “It’s right here.” He holds the money up above his head, arm fully extended. “Just come and get it.”

“Yeah, I’ll climb you like a tree, Paul Bunyan.”

“I didn’t know you were into role play.”

Mickey rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes and sighing. “What if I ask nicely?”

“Hmm.” Ian tilts his head to think then shakes it. “Nope.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, you know. One night in your sleep when you least expect it.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re short. Which is always.”

“Dead man. That’s what you are.” Mickey points at him. “Dead man walking.”

“Dead man being taller than you.” Ian dances back a few steps. “Dead man who has all the money. Dead man who thinks you’re a cutie pie.”

Mickey steps on the couch cushion and launches himself over the back of it, tackling Ian hard to the ground. Ian lets out a loud grunt and the money sprays around the room as he lets it go when he lands. Ian’s head hits the floor and Mickey scrambles from where he’s sprawled on top of Ian and straddles him instead, leaning forward to pin Ian’s hands down.

“Same height when we’re down here.”

Ian glares at him and moves his arm, tugging Mickey’s with it, as he rubs the back of his head. “That hurt, fucker.”

“Good.”

“You suck.”

Mickey grins wickedly and plants a rough, hard kiss on Ian’s lips. “That.” He slides down Ian’s body, planting kisses on his chest through his thin, worn t-shirt. “Is an excellent idea.” 

He kisses Ian’s dick through his jeans, feeling it react against his mouth. He rolls back onto his heels and stands up, grabbing the money off the floor. Ian’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “Hey!”

“What?”

“There was going to be sucking.”

“No.” Mickey grins down at him, leaning over and tapping Ian on the nose. “I just said it was a good idea.”

**

Mickey’s pretty much given up. 

Ian’s resorted to tying things on strings and taping them to the fucking ceiling so they hang down around the house like mobiles. The heavier items he just puts up there with duct tape, though he doesn’t have the decency to use real duct tape. He uses fucking Hello Kitty. 

Mickey’s wallet. Mickey’s Luger (unloaded _thankfully_ ). The ben wa beads that, fortunately, Ian took down before Mandy saw them, because Mickey made it exceptionally clear that Ian was going to be stuck explaining exactly how they worked and if he really wanted to talk about putting things up Mickey’s ass with Mickey’s sister, well then, more power to him.

When he taped the lube and condoms to the bedroom ceiling, Mickey absolutely refused to have sex with him for a week. 

Well, three days.

Two and a half.

Whenever he can’t find something, he simply looks up. Keys? Bathroom ceiling. Silver tie? That’s the noose around Yevgeny’s stuffed rabbit’s throat. It’s like being in a goddamned fun house run by Willy Wonka and his drugged-up little oompa-loompas, only Mickey’s careful not to say that, because he’s pretty sure Ian would start calling him oompa-loompa and singing that fucking song, and then Ian would have to die a horrible, gruesome, bloody death.

It’s nearly Christmas when Mickey figures out what to do, how to stop it once and for all. Ian’s at the Gallagher house and Mickey’s holed up in the living room with the remote (taped over the window) and a bag of popcorn. He’s flipping through channels and stops when a familiar shout fills the air. He stops and watches _Home Alone_ for a little while and then shuts it off, grinning a grin that probably rivals Ian’s.

He’d forgotten that, if you’re fighting a stooge, you have to fight _like_ a stooge.

**

The sex is amazing. 

Hard and hot and sweaty and Mickey riding Ian and raking his nails down Ian’s chest leaving red trails on his skin. Ian flipping them, shoving Mickey onto the bed, and pushing his knees up to his fucking ears so Ian can pound deep into his ass. Ian’s mouth and fingers everywhere. The hot spill of his own come on his stomach, the thickness of Ian’s orgasm in his ass. Ian sucking Mickey’s dick afterward until he was shaking and begging and swearing that it was too much, too much.

Ian falling asleep on his back with a sated, happy smile on his face.

The freezer has food in it because Ian hasn’t found a way to keep it cold if he tapes it to the ceiling – yet. Mickey fills a large plastic tumbler with ice and water, stirring it so that it gets cold. He takes a sip then stirs a bit longer. He carefully grabs the cup and a bag of peas and walks into the bedroom. Ian’s still asleep. 

Fucking gorgeous.

Mickey sets everything down and crawls up between Ian’s legs, licking and kissing the inside of his thighs before taking Ian’s dick in his mouth and sucking. Ian moans softly, spreading his legs further. His back arches and Mickey can see his eyes flickering beneath the lids and he knows Ian thinks he’s dreaming.

Mickey sucks a moment longer then pulls away, grabbing everything off the nightstand and then standing over Ian, straddling his spread legs. Ian makes a noise, hips rising in search of heat and suction. Mickey watches him for a few more seconds and then drops the bag of peas directly on Ian’s throat.

Ian’s eyes snap open and he lets out a strangled cry that goes up a couple of octaves as Mickey pours the cold water – ice and all – directly on Ian’s dick. Ian’s soaked, the bed beneath him is soaked, and Ian’s dick has shriveled until it’s about half its normal size.

“What the fuck, Mickey!”

Mickey grins down at him and sticks the cup to the ceiling by the piece of duct tape rolled on the bottom. “Who’s the tall one now, motherfucker?”


End file.
